The thought of escaping later next month to the Outer Banks (North Carolina) keeps me from wilting, and falling over (or under) from all the demands of everyday life. Just the mere thought of miles of sea-shore, undisturbed but for the dance of the winds upon the water, and the waves splashing endlessly upon the golden shores of glistening sand, fills me with peace and calm. Birds wheeling overhead, and if one is fortunate, wild ponies racing through the dunes is a wondrous sight to behold. As a child, summer vacations frequently involved a month or two down at the sea-shore in a tiny cottage within stone's throw of the sea. Save for the early morning visits of the local bread-maker who delivered her wares at about 6 or 7, and late afternoons when the ice-cream cart could be heard approaching by the tiny bells mounted on the push-handle, we were very much undisturbed, that is, my siblings and myself. Attempting to recreate this idyllic retreat is almost impossible, and at best futile, yet the memory persists and sustains me through yet another hot summer day.

Sometimes you move away, having experienced a change of heart, or mind. Whether temporary, or at times indefinitely permanent, we all change, or should strive for change, as, or since, we've now come to realize that this is the only constant in life. Wallpaper falls in and out of fashion; brass is passed over in favor of brushed nickel, and the formal dining room, formal only in the sense that it is reserved exclusively for the purpose of dining with some degree of ceremony or ritual, is now under attack by developers, architects, and builders who, in keeping with the mode for informality, celebrate and espouse the open layout kitchen/breakfast room where adults perch precariously atop bar-stools at a counter-high island-top, all this in a manner best reserved solely for limber adolescents or the choreographed movements of a seductive dance-troupe in a music-video suitable for late, late night viewing. Modern is an approach, not an accessory; copying the look from the latest, glossiest shelter magazine should be reconsidered and at best discouraged.

Celebrating both modernity and tradition, designer Robert Couturier's Connecticut garden seems timeless and most fitting to its setting. Never swayed by the vicissitudes of 'taste' or 'la mode' a well designed layout (such as today's visual treat) delights the eye, stimulates the mind, and nourishes the soul (in its quest for beauty). Love it!!

Sometimes, not all the time, or even frequently, perhaps occasionally, or, from time to time, I just want to get away (from it all). Yes, I wanna, wanna, wanna!! From the phone which never seems to leave my grasp for fear that I'll miss the most important call of my life; or the emails that proliferate like ravenous fleas on a docile fawn. The messages both text and voice demand a response. Innumerable apps and programs on most electronic devises promise satisfaction, or affirm one's existence through staying connected, as well as the opportunity to declare one's individuality through the process of selection, a series of decisions which indicates one's status, taste, aspirations, and so forth, not necessarily bound to consumerism but almost wholly so. Sometimes, not all the time, yet more frequently than I can recollect, I crave simplicity and the freedom that arises from the lack of choice(s). This becomes increasingly difficult in a society satiated by choices and options, customized/made-to-order/updated and upgraded/COM/special order/one-of-a-kind/only available for a limited time/numbered, signed, and certified. Not to mention shopping in membership-clubs where more equals less, and quicker means easier, and better suggests bigger. Or the glossy magazines where every and any clothing article is a must-have, every song or jingle a hit, every two-bit eatery becomes a 'destination.' Wanna just get away sometimes and hide, if only for an hour or two, cause sometimes I get just plain-old tired (of it all), and I'm sure, so must you . . .

Hope you love today's visual treat as much as I do, for it suggests sanctuary and tranquility (if only for an hour or two, or a life-time if so desired).

Today's visual treat suggests heaven on earth. As did the entirety of the this day which flowed smoothly and without incident. Trivial annoyances fared little against the general upbeat mood which seemed to flow uninterrupted from breakfast and through nap-time at half past five. Notwithstanding minor thunderstorms predicted for this afternoon-- which luckily failed to materialize, all roads flowed smoothly and even the yappy dog across the street seemed to agree that snoozing through the morning-news shows and ignoring the mail-carrier could hardly be considered a dereliction of duty on a day such as this. Front-yard gardens everywhere on our street showed signs of rejuvenation after the past weekend's rains. Dahlias once hidden in the tangled mess of airy fennel bushes and entangled nasturtiums eagerly emerged to greet the benevolent afternoon sun and the energetic song-birds who visit every day have grown surprisingly tame perched atop the metal obelisk. An unexpected gift of several toad lilies (long sitting on my wish list) proved to be the icing on the cake (of plenitude), and perhaps an affirmation that the Universe does work in wonderful and mysterious ways.

This is my idea of 'going camping' or 'roughing it.' While I can understand the allure of pitching a tent beneath the stars, preparing a camp-fire and grilling grub, as well as falling asleep to the rhythm of nature, I'd rather converse over a sumptuous dinner served on old china-plates accompanied by a fruity Mendoza malbec, and then snuggle into a sheeted-bed after a long, hot shower. Call me a sissy or prissy if you must, but I've done the bivouac thing in the US Army already, and it gets old really fast. And while I adore the sounds of nocturnal wildlife, trippy or looped lounge grooves and a glass of hot-tea are the best accompaniments to a place of deep, tranquil sleep.

Peeps,Tonight's rain which started earlier, perhaps it began yesterday afternoon with a slight drizzle, seemed to quench the thirsty earth, as well as those among us who have become quite parched throughout the previous week, as well as this one. It has become increasingly difficult to rush from the back garden to that of Lady Emblom's (who is still holidaying in Canada), before the harsh rays of the sun pierces through the late afternoon and well into the evening. Laurels and boxwoods which once seemed impervious to the drought have turned brown and dry. Roses and daisies, as well as zinnias and marigolds provide sharp bursts of vivid color in an otherwise drab bed, although on occasion the dahlias burst forth with a startling vengeance almost formidable when compared to their native counterparts. An abundance of bunny-rabbits have almost decimated the basil plants carefully placed just near the peony bushes and Japanese ferns. Reetika's mother planted peony bushes some years ago, and at the base were placed smooth river-pebbles on which the words MEMORY (or LOVE?) were painted. Sometimes, during the day's activities I'll quickly glance over and press on, for the numerous tasks of the garden causes one to hurry before dusk sets in, and the long drive home. Yet, each spring as if by pure magic, the peony buds unfurl and dinner-plate sized blooms appear with little fanfare to bewitch all visitors. Particularly this week, I couldn't help remembering my cherished friend whose poetry dazzled an entire generation. Our last encounter was purely accidental: peals of laughter from behind a hedge of camellia bushes, and peeking around I saw Reetika, joyous and radiant and more beautiful than 10,000 suns. Her anniversary was a few days ago, and her haunting poem still presses upon me. I--we--all miss her very much, and console ourselves with the memory, and the written treasures that she left behind, one of which is 'Lullaby.'

Even now--almost a life-time later--I still experience Sunday afternoons almost like I did while growing up in my boyhood home. Whether lunching alone or with friends, who are really more of an extended/expanded/revised/recreated family, it's fun to just sit and savor the sense of peace and quiet that comes with having gotten through the work-week all in one piece; whether or not huge accomplishments were achieved almost seems pointless when compared to a lifetime's toil, and the fragility of it all. So much is out of our control, knowing this and living this bit of wisdom are almost polarities, yet not quite. A trip to the movies, complete with popcorn and maybe a bag of toffee, would tip the scales into pure ecstasy, now as well as it was at 8 or 9 or 10 yrs old, with a group of pals heading up to the balcony seats and the possibilities stretched endlessly and the future was limitless. Only in looking back could I now shout to my younger self, ' Hold on; wait a little longer; go a little slower; take it all in, live it even fuller!!'

Sundays are special and should really be spent in contemplation or relaxation. I hope that all of you are doing just that on this beautiful day.

Every day I continue to marvel at the wonder of modern technology, especially I-tunes, which allows the listener to enjoy music, shows, interviews, and news broadcast from virtually anywhere in the world. It's Saturday night and I'm sitting contentedly at my little desk; with a quick click of the mouse I'm able to travel through distant regions and cities where prolific DJ's offer wonderful mixes of electronica, disco, and house music; at times I bask in nostalgia while visiting more obscure stations devoted to folk, regional, or heritage songs and rhythms. During the recent heat-wave I had great fun on a friend's I-phone, especially the app that listed the weather conditions of the hemisphere's most northern cities, all this in sharp contrast to the burning inferno we struggled through, and may live to tell our offspring depending on what the months of August and September brings. I want to take this opportunity to heartily salute the wonder and wizardry of FaceBook which facilitates new friendships across oceans and continents, and makes the rest of world so much more immediate and wonderful, at times almost as homey as chatting across the back fence . . .

If I could do it all over again, or at least this part of it, and by that I mean the time that I went to California and rented a car and drove from Los Angeles to Ojai. I thought that I would move there, meaning out West, and start fresh and it would all be better in that bit of paradise that slumbered under clear blue skies occasionally dotted by puffy white clouds drifting lazily towards the green curves of low hills which at times appeared almost to spill forward into a hazy infinity. On the drive back to LAX where I planned to catch the earliest flight back East, I erroneously exited onto a unmarked road which quickly turned from paved asphalt to rock and shake, to a dusty dirt road, unlit and unmarked. On the side of the road crouched a young Hispanic girl, partially wrapped in a shawl, who stuck up her thumb at my approach, undoubtedly hoping for a ride. I did not stop to give her a lift, perhaps out of fear, or a selfish desire to not get involved, maybe an unwillingness on my part to break from the script I had already envisioned which included my less than triumphant return to DC. I prefer not to dwell on regrets, to instead focus on the things that I can change, yet this image, and the memory of the incident, continues to play against my conscience when I least expect it. And I thought that perhaps it was time to share this, maybe in the hope of moving beyond one of the moments when I lost sight of my more noble self. I am sure that you will all understand, or at least give me the space to get it off my chest (since we are all now involved in the process of editing and creating a simpler life). Thanks...

Peeps,While going through the slow, methodical cleansing that accompanies the process of editing, as once cherished objects are carefully set in designated piles to be taken to the post-office, dropped off at the consignment shop, or placed in the receptive hands of the new owners, I can't help but reflect on the passage of time, and the difference between the then, and the now. The acquisitiveness of my 30's has been tempered by the realization that what matters most are life's experiences, and the love that has been shared--both given and received--along the way. Hopefully, now that I'm in my 40's, I've gotten kindler, gentler, and more giving of my time, emotions, and affections. With the advent of my 50's in a year or two (or three), I feel strongly that it's only getting better, and the last half century was all a practice session for the next one. Best wishes in all of your endeavors.Sincerely,ShanePS: Today's soundtrack is HOMEGROWN's ENDANGERED SPECIES (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8YXhCcMK6l0)

Peeps,There is some small satisfaction in knowing that within a matter of weeks, the month of August will be here and city-dwellers will decamp to the seaside in droves; shopkeepers will shutter their windows and lock the doors; magically, ample parking-spaces will appear next to one's favorite eatery. For those who plan to remain floating at the end of the pool or tucked away in the cool of the garden, quick trips to the library and grocery-store will suffice to reassure everyone that civilization has not ended, afternoon naps are essential to one's sense of well-being, and sometimes nice people do finish first.

Please remember that if you have a bounty of extra vegetables and fruit from the garden, share with a neighbour or call the local food-bank which will be happy to arrange for a pickup.

This past weekend I had the good fortune of visiting the Windy City, and in the aftermath of a marathon spree through the innumerable charms and attractions of this wonderful city, I must admit to still basking in the afterglow of what I hope will become an annual or bi-annual event. Boystown, a neighborhood located in the Lakeview section and just a short ride to the Botanical Garden and North Shore Beach, was filled with hookah joints, taco eateries, loads of sushi and Japanese restaurants, as well as small clothing boutiques and independent record shops where elusive early Chicago-house tracks could be readily obtained (at reasonable prices). Residents of this area love their piercings and body-art (tattoos), as well as outdoor cafes, beer-pubs, creperies, and the world-renown Chicago-style pizza and Polish sausages, happily available until 3 in the morning. Everyone was friendly and all seemed intent on making the most of an unusually warm weekend.

I especially loved the small restaurants where the BOYB policy reigned and all the offerings from Binny's Liquor store on N. Clark could be enjoyed without a ridiculous drink(s) charge. Nothing comes close to tacos al pastor, rice and beans, lots of hot-sauce and big glasses of ice-cold Bloody Mary(s); or long platters of sushi and spicy sake poured generously into tiny glasses. After the winged barman at SPIN realized that we were in search of a deeper mix, he steered us right away to Berlin, and it was truly a dark, deep fantasy come alive in the form of no-holds dancing to serious electro-house music. The highlight of Saturday night was our trip to --really a trip into--the Berlin nightclub where DJ Larissa had the floor filled and moving nonstop through dawn. Out Magazine, Time Out Chicago, Rolling Stone, and Chicago Reader's were right in voting Berlin as Best Dance Club in Chicago. For music and dance lovers, it's the next best thing to an era past, and a dream that still persists between midnight and sunrise.

In retrospect, I could have avoided the crowds that filled the Navy Pier, as well as the $107 lunch tab (for 6 watery margaritas, 2 lukewarm stuffed peppers, 2 insipid fish-tacos, 1 order of average-tasting ceviche, and 2 ordinary lamb-sliders) by remaining in the cool of my hostess' salon. Yet the opportunity for people-watching and her assurances that it would be lots of fun kept my interest for an hour or so. It seems that all the different (and wonderful) individuals who call Chicago home, could have been easily viewed in an amazing on-line photo documentary by (new-peep) photographer Adam Novak entitled I Am Chicago. He explained that, 'the on-line gallery of photographs shows the tremendous richness of the way that Chicagoans present themselves to the public - the faces, bodies, attitudes, clothes, accessories, tools of everyday life that people lug with them - morph wildly from North to South and East to West. Our portraits document 30 Chicago corners spanning two years and all seasons. Each neighborhood of Chicago is represented through a careful selection of portraits of its citizens as they passed by our makeshift studio in the course of a single day. To entice Chicagoans to pose for our lens, a professional studio portrait was printed on the spot and given to each participant.' Wow, if I had known this beforehand, it would have saved me some major bucks (for the dreadful lunch at one of the Pier's waterside eateries), and still aching feet. Next time I'll ask around beforehand . . .

Loved Chicago, and can't wait to return for round 2 (of the American Adventure).

All I could think about these past days was escaping indoors from the oppressive heat that seems to have enveloped our area. From early morning to late evening, whether working or lounging near the pool, I couldn't help but visualize lush green fields of wildflowers, cool skies dotted with heavy clouds, or endless rains falling upon my parched skin. It's probably going to be a long time before my idealized version of paradise occurs, at least a month or two, and so I'll have to just grin and bear it until fall arrives or the heat-wave brakes. Marathon viewing sessions of Masterpiece Theater and Downton Abbey will certainly keep me pleasantly distracted, as well as the ongoing project of still more editing (of personal possessions). As each item is carefully wrapped and presented lovingly to its new owner, or steward, as we've all come to realize in this walk of life from birth to death, I feel a certain lightness, almost like floating across a calm blue sea. And I'm loving it . . .

Peeps,In a blink of an eye, or, more accurately, with a little flicker it was all gone from sight. For the storm howling outside my window, and the rains whipping across the garden-shed followed by the boom of lighting in the night sky had succeeded in bringing the nation's capitol (and many areas of the mid-atlantic) to its knees, and in this position we thus remained. The realization that electrical power had been disrupted (without prior warning) and the inability to keep reading my late-night novel entitled Dreams of My Russian Summer paled in comparison to the harsher realities which were experienced in the days following; food-shops closed within a walking radius, and long queues at the gas-stations where confusion reigned under the 95 degree heat of the afternoon sun. A scarcity of bagged-ice or drinking water was experienced by many, as well as hours-long delay in transportation because of fallen trees, dark signal-lights, and the onslaught of common citizens all intent on getting: rewired/recharged/reconnected/refreshed/replenished, and seen from the safety of my car, a few instances of just wanting RESPECT!! Seemed almost like a story from biblical times or an apocalyptic movie gone viral and real, until one realizes that in certain parts of the world this state of affairs is the norm, and there the everyday experience of life shared by many does not include demanding calls to PepCo, double-headers in the cool of the multiplex, or the belief that within a few hours it will all be over and everything back, just the easy and comfortable way we've come to expect it to be.Happily for me, our street was reconnected yesterday evening, and tonight I'm back to you. Thanks for all your FB messages and emails. Missed you too . . .Sincerely,ShanePS: Today's soundtrack is PABLO DENEGRI's Nebulosa (marco zenker remix)